


Pillow Talk

by acid rounds (cobwebcorner)



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: M/M, Technically valentine's day fluff, as fluffy as these two get, banter ahoy, which is not very
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22732639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobwebcorner/pseuds/acid%20rounds
Summary: Albert Wesker, Leon Kennedy, a succession of hotel rooms and the conversations that happen after dark.
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Albert Wesker
Comments: 14
Kudos: 181





	Pillow Talk

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I put any of my bullshit in this fandom so I thought I'd throw up an old drabble for Valentine's Day. Please disregard the fact that Febuary 14th ended 30 minutes ago. 
> 
> This is the first thing I ever wrote in this pairing and it's more of a warm up than anything, to get a sense of the characters and their potential dynamic. Not technically part of my series.

“Chris is going to kill me,” Leon said conversationally. Twinkling lights from the signs and headlights outside flashed over the walls of the dark hotel room, making the shadows dance. The too-soft cotton sheets pooled around his waist, damp with sweat and hot from the furnace of their bodies. His companion snorted into one of the pillows, clearly demonstrating how much he cared for Chris's opinion.

“I'm sure I could find a way to bring you back,” replied the smooth, lightly accented voice. “It is my business, after all.”

Leon shuddered at the thought. “No thanks.” He arched, arms grasping towards the headboard, stretching his sore back. Starting out on the table really had been a bad idea. Fever-warm fingers trailed down his chest, admiring the stretching muscles. Leon shifted his head to the side and opened an eye.

“You get shot quite often,” his companion noted, fingers tracing over a puckered scar on Leon's left pectoral.

“What can I say. I've got ornery neighbors.” His eyes trailed over the pristine skin of his companion, lingering on the nicely chiseled abs and shoulders. “You look like you haven't gotten shot at all.”

“Being able to dodge bullets helps.”

“You never got hit in STARS?”

“Once or twice. Whatever scars I had disappeared after my resurrection.”

“Huh.” It wasn't usual for Wesker to be so forthright. He must be feeling fuzzy from the afterglow. Leon certainly felt gooey enough inside himself.

“You sound disappointed.”

“I like keeping my scars,” Leon said, raising his hand to the very scar Wesker had been investigating. “Like keeping memories.”

“I wouldn't think you would want to remember being shot,” Wesker said. “Where is this one from?”

“Raccoon City,” Leon replied.

Wesker's eyebrows rose.

“Umbrella agent?” He guessed. “Or did you cross Chief Irons? I heard he went over the edge by the end.”

“No. It was from Annette Birkin, actually.”

Something in Wesker's face closed, and Leon knew pillow talk time was over.

The other man turned over on his back, hand leaving Leon's chest. Leon frowned a little at the loss of contact. Getting any intimacy out of Wesker was like pulling teeth. It had taken months just to get to this moment, tangled together in bed. Their relationship wasn't usually sexual. It didn't need to be. They had what Wesker called an...intellectual association. They battled wits in their own elaborate game of spy vs spy. They fought, usually with words, sometimes with guns and fists. Sometimes, in heated moments when no one was looking, they kissed. Wesker wasn't usually interested in anything more physical than a fight.

Tonight, tonight had been different. Tonight had been strange. Wesker had actually called and left him an invitation in the traditional way, with a phone rather than a false rumor filtered through Leon's employers. Leon had been so certain of a trap he'd come armed for bear, and he'd been very surprised when Wesker bypassed the usual scuffling stage of their meetings and went straight for Leon's mouth.

“You—You really want this?” Leon had said when Wesker went for his waistband. He hadn't really been put off, just surprised.

“What do you think, Kennedy?” Wesker had hissed in his ear, breath hot against winter-chilled skin. “Don't even try to tell me you're not interested in men.”

“I can be. If it's the right guy,” Leon had replied, shrugging a shoulder.

Wesker had reared back enough that Leon could look straight into his gold-red monster eyes, the ever-present shades already discarded.

“Am I the right guy?” he had asked, voice a little mocking.

He really shouldn't have been. Wesker was one of the most evil and selfish men Leon had ever met, the opposite of everything he stood for, the cause of so much pain and suffering. Leon's hands had slid under Wesker's shirt, traced the tight cords of muscle underneath. He was also the most intelligent and competent man Leon had ever met. He just had this presence about him, that hooked and pulled Leon in, against all sense and reason. Leon might have had a somewhat unhealthy attraction to people who were bad for him, the more dangerous, the better.

“Hell yes,” the words had come in a hoarse breath, and Wesker had fused their mouths together before the 's' had died in the air.

Leon still didn't feel guilty about any of it, lying in bed next to this man and watching light flit across the ceiling. Maybe that would change in the morning. He almost felt guilty for not feeling guilty, which was an old and familiar road in his thoughts.

“So is this going to become a thing?” Leon asked. He really wanted to ask what had brought this whole thing on, but that was the kind of question that was sure to send Wesker out the door.

Wesker didn't reply for so long that Leon looked over just to check if he'd fallen asleep. The other man was also staring at the ceiling, mouth set in a troubled line.

“Do you want it to?”

Leon bit back a sigh. The old “answer questions with more questions” routine was the last game he wanted to play right then.

“Might have to check back in the morning,” Leon said.

“In the morning, then,” Wesker replied, and his eyes fell shut. Leon hadn't noticed how much light they gave off until they were closed.

Leon pulled the blanket up his chest and closed his own eyes. In the morning, Wesker would be gone, leaving Leon with nothing but questions and memories. If Leon was lucky, the other man would pay the bill for the room before he left. That was just how the game went.

It didn't matter. There would always be next time.

* * *

He stopped trying to feel guilty about the whole thing the day he learned the truth about Umbrella's fall. He had just submitted his report to Simmons about an encounter with Wesker on his previous mission when a call from the BSAA came in. Leon had listened to Simmons' side of the call in silence, the troubled furrow in his brow deepening with every moment Simmons failed to pass on Leon's information. Simmons hung up the call with a roll of his eyes.

“You didn't tell them about Wesker,” Leon had said, cautious not to sound too accusing.

Simmons glanced his way, his eyes flat and dismissive.

“Listen, Kennedy, I wouldn't normally tell this to an agent of your clearance level,” he said, glancing casually around the room for eavesdroppers as he drew closer to the agent, “but I know you have friends in the BSAA and I don't want you getting any bad ideas. We don't bother Mr. Wesker, and he doesn't bother us.”

“He's an extremely dangerous criminal, a known supplier of BOWs, and a former Umbrella employee,” Leon had replied in a deadpan voice. “Every organization that knows he's alive wants him taken down. The atrocities he's helped cause--”

“I know, I know,” Simmons cut him off, waving his hands in a stopping motion. “But he is also our best informant. We never would have taken Umbrella down without his help. Why, even this last little affair in Belgravia was contained thanks to his tip-off.”

Leon was so flabbergasted that English temporarily escaped him. Simmons clapped him on the shoulder.

“The BSAA are...shall we say, a little too black and white in their approach? Mr. Wesker doesn't like these upstart bio-weapons dealers any more than we do. So, he scratches our back, and we turn a blind eye to him. The dealers get taken out, and everyone's happy.”

“You mean he doesn't like competition,” Leon said.

Simmons shrugged.

“His real motives don't matter. He is useful to us, and would be—as you said—a dangerous enemy if we crossed him. It's best just to let him operate.”

A year ago, Leon would have gone ahead and told Chris anyway, Simmons be damned. It felt like hypocrisy now, and it stung him to think how easily he clung to any reason not to tell. Simmons' words had stuck in him the whole ride home, thorns in his brain. Wesker's information helped take down other bio-terrorists. Wesker set his enemies against each other—it was his favorite play. Leon had known that, but the pieces had never clicked before now. He never could have imagined the extent of it. Wesker had taken down Umbrella, had doused the company in gasoline at least even if he hadn't struck the match himself. It wasn't such a surprise that the government was willing to let a big fish hang around to chase away the little fish—they had a history of doing just that. It was just boggling to think that Wesker, of all men, had such a relationship with them.

* * *

“Simmons told me a funny thing the other day,” Leon said. He was lying next to Wesker in the hotel bed, hands folded behind his head. “He said that at the last trial, Umbrella was going to get off again. Until someone showed up with a whole lot of damning evidence that shot their case straight to hell.”

Wesker hummed noncommittally. He looked deceptively human lying there, eyes closed, hands draped loosely over his stomach, hair lightly disheveled.

“The contributor was anonymous, but the kind of documents they had could only have come from someone pretty high up in the company.”

“Umbrella never did inspire much loyalty from its ranks,” Wesker said.

Understatement of the century, Leon thought as he let his eyes rake over the man beside him. This man, who had been so shaped by Umbrella, had to be the most treacherous snake he had ever met. Which just made it hilarious that he was lying in bed with him, naked, without even a gun near to hand. The first couple times they had tumbled into bed together, Leon had kept the presence of mind to bring his handgun to the end table. He hadn't bothered tonight. His gun was with the rest of his kit, tangled up in a knot with his pants somewhere over by the bathroom door.

A gun wouldn't have done him much good, anyway, he decided. Nothing less than a rocket launcher could put Wesker down.

“It was you, wasn't it.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I know you're destroying everyone following in Umbrella's footsteps. Chris might be too blinded by hatred to see it, but I do. You've stamped out more of Umbrella's copycats than we have."

“Is that how you appease your conscience?” Wesker asked with one of his meaner smirks. “I won't deny, it is useful to thin out the competition.” A not-so-subtle reminder that Wesker, too, was in the business of creating monsters, as if Leon could ever let himself forget with those two serpent eyes blazing violent red in the dim lighting.

“Is that how you appease your practicality?” Leon replied, one eyebrow quirking upward.

Wesker's eyes slid sideways, catching Leon's gaze with a narrow stare. The lock held, each man visually probing for weak points in the other's armor.

“You want me to believe you brought Umbrella down for nothing but business? Not a single ulterior motive?”

“There might have been a sense of personal satisfaction,” Wesker admitted, returning his gaze to the ceiling. Not a retreat so much as a dismissal, as if the game had stopped amusing him.

Leon wasn't about to let that go so easily. He slid down beside Wesker, chest hovering over chest with an arm planted on either side of the broad shoulders.

“What is it that draws you to monsters, Leon?” Wesker asked. A microsmile curled the corners of his lips.

“Don't know what you mean.” Leon mumbled between kisses.

“Ada. Me. Is it the danger you're after?”

“Maybe.” He tilted his head his head in a haughty fashion, causing the fringe of his hair to sway.

“You wouldn’t be the first.”

“You and Ada share dates often?”

“No,” Wesker admitted. “I wonder sometimes if you don’t have a death wish.”

“Me?” Leon asked, mouth twisting in an incredulous half-smile.

“Being the lone survivor all the time must take its psychological toll. You’ve thrown yourself into the most dangerous profession possible, and you love to dally with people like me. The evidence is pretty damning, I’d say.”

“You gonna bill me for the psychotherapy?” Leon asked. “I’m pretty attached to living. You don’t have to worry. Anyway, it’s okay to admit you wanted to take down Umbrella because they were just that bad. Makes you human.”

Wesker sat up suddenly, pushing Leon up with him, and grasped the agent’s chin to hold his head still while he searched his eyes.

“Take care, Leon, that you don’t build me up to be more noble than I am. Everything I do is out of simple self-interest. I don’t care who or what I save by squashing out my rivals. That is an unintentional side effect of how I do business.”

“I said human,” Leon replied. “Not good.”

“Important distinction,” Wesker agreed. He leaned forward, the heat of his breath washing over Leon’s mouth. “I’m not human, either.”

“Close enough,” Leon replied, and closed the distance between their mouths before Wesker could think up some other scathing remark.

“I feel I should be insulted,” Wesker murmured into his mouth between kisses. He broke away, resting his forehead against Leon’s. “I don’t know how you do it. Putting your life on the line every day for those...” he waved a hand, expressing in one dismissive motion what he thought of the human race.

“I know,” Leon sighed. “And I’ve run out of ways to try to explain it to you. I vowed to scrub those viruses from the face of the earth. You can understand that at least, right?”

“It’s never going to end. As long as humans are the way they are, people like me will keep making bioweapons, and the fools who buy them will keep causing worse and worse outbreaks.”

“I know that, too.”

“You’re fighting a losing war.” Wesker snorted. "And what will the world do when you get yourself killed with your idiotic nobility?"

"Keep on turning," Leon replied with a shrug.

Wesker watched him still, one side of his mouth curling briefly in a sardonic smirk. He was searching for something in Leon's face, but what, Leon couldn't say. Abruptly he seized Leon's arm and pulled him down, catching a shocked intake of breath with a searing kiss. Leon could barely fathom what was going on behind those serpent eyes on a good day. He certainly couldn’t guess what Wesker was thinking now, as the other man climbed on top of him. He wasn’t going to pass up a rare moment of physical intimacy, and obligingly melted in the other man's arms.

"They don't deserve you." A whisper in the dark, breathed into his hair when he lounged half-asleep on Wesker's shoulder some time later. Leon closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

**Author's Note:**

> just an update: I am currently working on the next part of TWDTC. I'm about 40,000 words into it and it's turning into a bit of a monster. Fingers crossed that I might have it finished and start posting before RE 3 remake comes out. Don't hold me to that.


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